


Darkness Descends Once More Into My Life

by soysauceanon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Just a little bit), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Like I promise not too much, SO, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, Some Dean x Amara, a tiny bit of self hate, but not in a romantic way, but this is Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:16:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5552060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soysauceanon/pseuds/soysauceanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sad Christmas fic that takes place in the Bunker before and after the happenings of 11.09 (O Brother, Where Art Thou?)</p><p>Written for the December 2015 Dean Creations Challenge. </p><p>Title and quote taken from the song "Darkness Descends" by Laura Marling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness Descends Once More Into My Life

 

**_You deal with God,_ **

**_far too young._**

**_Before you know it,_ **

**_your life has run away._**

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

 

Christmas rolls gradually through the bunker that year.

In the first week of December, Sam returns from a food run with a carton of eggnog, in addition to their usual provisions. They don’t talk about it, but that evening the three of them all sit in comfortable silence, drinking out of mismatched mugs. After a short while of sipping at it primly, Cas politely asks if humans drink eggnog because they wish to, or if it’s a holiday requirement. 

“Shut up and drink your drink,” Dean replies. Sam just smiles and hands Cas the rum.

 

One night in the second week of December, Dean gets up in the middle of the night to find Cas with an armful of pine branches, stock still in the middle of the war room, staring at the wall. He considers making a joke about the wall undeserving of an honest-to-god- angel smiting, but as Cas steps forward and fondly affixes a bough to the wall in what is obviously a very specifically chosen location, Dean instead decides to silently retreat from the room and leave the angel to his decorating. Over the next few days Sam and Dean discover the branches carefully, if somewhat artlessly arranged in the kitchen, the library, the war room, the garage, and, (somewhat creepily, as Dean grouses) in each of their bedrooms. The branches give off a subtle pine scent, which mixes effortlessly with the familiar, somewhat dusty smell of the bunker and makes everything a bit more cosy.

 

About a week after the pine branches appear, Dean amuses himself for a few hours by taking an old box of Christmas lights found in storage, and placing them in locations strategically chosen to cause Sam the most annoyance. He scallops some low across doorways, ensuring that Sam will have to fold himself nearly in half to pass through, wraps them tightly around a shelf of Sam’s most used reference books in the library, and - his crowning achievement - even manages to rig up a string of big flashing lights in Sam’s bedroom that he can activate remotely.

 

By the time a joint package from Jody and Donna arrives, containing cookies and hand knit stockings - (which Cas promptly took upon himself to hang, not by a fireplace, but above the coffee maker in the kitchen [because Cas]) - there’s a decent amount of Holiday Cheer to go around, and Dean’s thinking they might actually have a Christmas to be proud of.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Dean’s doing well these days. By his own estimation, he’s pretty much normal. He has no gauge whatsoever for what “normal” should feel like, but he knows that he’s better because he no longer catches Sam sneaking worried glances and pained half smiles in his direction (The Look), and because people have stop asking him how he’s doing in that special voice reserved for addressing the very nearly dead (The Voice). He’s been sleeping, too. Not the fitful, nightmarish sleep of time gone by, but real, restful, energizing sleep. The feeling is so novel and exhilarating that his typical four hours a night has already increased to well past six. He even naps sometimes. Dean never used to appreciate napping because for him, it was all just sleeping. He’d catch what he could at odd hours of the day, and hope it would add up to enough sleep to keep him going. Now that he’s more or less on a regular schedule though, he’s beginning to understand the appeal of curling up for an hour or so in the afternoon simply because it’s pleasant and comfortable, and not because it’s strictly necessary.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 When Dean wakes up from once such nap late in December, he finds Sam and Cas decorating a Christmas tree in the library. He doesn’t ask where it came from, because he could wake up to find those two assembling an antique dirigible in the entryway and it honestly wouldn’t really faze him (Sam’s humongous nerd brain plus Cas’s angel resources is a freaky kind of breeding ground for weird projects, he’s found) so a Christmas tree doesn’t really merit much more than a sleepy blink or two.  He parks himself in an arm chair with a cup of coffee and watches contentedly as they wrangle lights and ornaments. He only gets involved when he sees Cas preparing to put a white dove on the very top of the tree.

“Hey!” he shouts. “What’s with the dove, man?”   

Cas fixes him with a look of long-suffering patience. “Doves are extraordinarily Biblically significant, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I know, dude, promise of God, and all that.”

 Cas opens his mouth, probably to bore them all with what the ‘all that’ actually is, but Dean charges on. “I mean, it would be just plain wrong not to use an angel as our tree topper, what with all the effort you’re putting in.”

 Cas narrows his eyes at Dean. “I wanted to decorate the tree, Dean, not sit on it.”  Dean knows that Cas is probably being sarcastic. Sure, he can be _genuinely_ angry and smitey when he wants to be, but he understands a lot more than he lets on these days. Unfortunately, Dean can see Sam smirking out of the corner of his eye, which means that he’s almost struck gold and he can’t possibly let this go.

 “Well, no, you wouldn’t want to sit up there without the right kind of chair,” he says thoughtfully. “But I’m sure we could find something that would work.”

 Cas huffs and continues fluffing the dove’s feathers.

 “And I mean,” Dean continues, “it’s not like you’d have to stay up there all the time. We’d let you down every now and then.”

 Cas maintains his dignified silence. Sam shoulders tremble slightly.

 “Anyway, it’s only a few more days to Christmas, so it’s not even that big of a commitment.”

 Nothing.

 “A bell!” Dean exclaims brightly. “We’ll stick you up there, give you a bell, and you can ring it whenever you want some eggnog!”

 This, apparently, is too much.

“That vile, pointless, and frankly disgusting human mutation will stay far away from me, unless you want all the eggnog on earth to mysteriously disappear,” Cas bellows.

 The Winchesters crack simultaneously at this outburst, and the three of them finish decorating the tree amid more good-natured joking and teasing. In the end, they allow Cas to put his “boring Bible bird” atop the tree.

 As they all stand back to admire their work Sam asks “So could you really vanish all the eggnog on Earth?”

 “Don’t tempt me,” Cas answers with a small smile.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The next morning, Dean and Sam sit in the library, and Sam tells him of his visions. Dean hates it. He hates that Sam is having visions, and that they’re making him revisit the time he spent in the Cage. He hates even more that he can’t seem to dissuade Sam from following up on them.

 

They meet with Crowley, and then with Rowena.

 

Dean leaves to follow up on a lead with Amara, and leaves very specific instructions about how Sam should proceed, namely, not at all until Dean returns.

 

At some point after that Amara spirits him away, kisses him and slaughters a group of angels.  

 

When Dean returns, Sam is missing and his world is infinitely more broken.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Dean drinks himself to sleep for the first time in a long time. He vaguely regrets the loss of progress he was making in normal personhood, but there is no way he can contain the knowledge that Sam is back in the Cage and not destroy himself or others without the assistance of alcohol. It hurts so fucking much, and the familiarity of it hurts the most. The last time this happened (and his brain almost explodes at the thought that his baby brother could get trapped in Hell with Lucifer _twice_ ) Dean had gone to find Lisa, still chasing that elusive apple pie life, still thinking redemption might be in the cards for him. Now he knew better. And now Sammy was back in the Cage, and Dean was _still_ as powerless to free him as he had been the first time.

 He wants to be doing something, but he honestly doesn’t know _what_. Crowley is his one lead and it goes nowhere. Dean summons him and Crowley doesn’t show, which is maybe for the best, since Dean is so livid he’d probably kill the demon before he extracted the information he needed.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

That night his dreams return. He’s standing in a field, and he feels strangely alert and calm at the same time, like his body is fighting itself. He turns to see Amara smiling at him, and she’s too close, but he can’t seem to step away.

 “I knew you’d come,” she says with a confident smile. “You will always come to me Dean, because we’re bound.”

 He tries to speak but his tongue feels heavy and his throat feels tight.  Amara leans in close and grips his chin like she’s about to kiss him again.

 “I know you’re at war with yourself, Dean. You still don’t trust me, but you can’t resist me. And there’s no reason to. The peace that you feel with me is what I want for everyone. As I said before: no pain, no prayer, just bliss.”

 Dean’s suddenly reminded of another life, one where his mom lived, and his dad joined a softball team and died of natural causes. There was a white picket fence, and birthday celebrations and Sam got married like he was always supposed to. It was perfect, but it was still all wrong. Sam was a stranger who looked at him with cold eyes and disappointment in his face, and thousands of people who should have lived were never given the chance because he didn’t save them. It was all fake he remembers bitterly, because a blissful life was never going to be his reality. A happy ending is so far out of the question that even in a drug-induced paradise couldn’t get it right.

His throat feels tighter every second but he forces the words through. “Bliss is overrated” he grates out.

Amara continues to smile at him, as she grips the back of his neck, and he wishes he could tear himself away but he’s powerless. Just like he always is.

Suddenly the sky opens up and Dean flinches as lightning touches down mere feet from where they stand. Amara’s eyes narrow as she gazes over his shoulder, and the smile slides off her face. She is suddenly terrifying and Dean can understand how she expects to take on God and win. They’re whipped around by the wind, and he tries again to pull away, but everything is gray, and nothing makes sense. He can’t even tell if he and Amara are still connected, and as he writhes in the air, he realizes he also can’t tell if he’s moving at all. Suddenly the darkness around him breaks and a dove flutters down, landing on his shoulder, incongruous in its peacefulness amongst this gray turmoil. The Earth rumbles and a voice breaks the rushing silence.

“This is my son, whom I love. With him I am well pleased.”

Dean blinks and the gray is gone. Standing before him is a young John Winchester, fresh-faced and grinning at him, but the eyes are cold and deep.

“If you’re talking to me, that’s a little sacrilegious,” Dean tells him, and the angel begins to laugh at him, a chilling and hollow sound that makes Dean want to run.

Then Amara speaks from behind Dean.

“You have no claim on him, Michael, the apocalypse is long over.”

“I am merely the courier,” Michael replies cooly. “It’s God himself who wishes to speak with the Righteous Man.”

“All the better,” Amara answers calmly, “as I wish to speak with God.” Her hand grips Dean’s shoulder. “You can take us both to him.”

“The invitation does not extend to you,” Michael sneers, and he surges forward to grab Dean’s arm. He pulls and Amara reciprocates and Dean is lost in the exchange of power that follows as each tries to win the right to claim him in some way. As he’s tugged back and forth he wonders idly why they didn’t bother to ask him. These entities who never seem to leave him alone, who are always popping up to further convolute his already pretty complicated life, who treat him like a prize to be won, never bother to just fucking _ask_ him what _he_ wants. The anger bubbles up inside him and he begins to shout, a horrible, anguished, and aggressive noise, which gets louder as he regains control of his body and begins to rage against his celestial assailants. He still can’t see what’s happening around him, but his limbs are flying, and he feels a hit of satisfaction whenever they connect with something, even though he knows he can do no real damage to either of them.

Suddenly, the dove (which Dean had forgotten about) descends from somewhere above him, and somehow, impossibly begins to lift him up, and they soar out of reach of Amara and Michael, who should probably be able to follow him, but in this instance they are the ones who are powerless, and Dean is gone.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

He wakes shivering and sits up to stare at his arms where they had both grasped him and pulled. There are no marks there, but he can still feel their hands on him, and he can’t stop staring.

There’s a knock on his door and he startles.

“Dean?” calls Cas tentatively. In his grief, Dean had almost forgotten that Cas is here. He lives here now, as much as he lives anywhere. Dean feels at once slightly comforted at the thought of having someone else around, and guilty for ignoring Cas in the wake of Sam’s disappearance.

“Yeah Cas, come on in,” he calls back.

Cas opens the door and steps inside. A glance at the clock tells Dean it’s 4am, but Cas doesn’t sleep now, not really, not like a human, so it’s not unusual for him to be up at this hour.

Cas gazes at Dean from the doorway, and in his eyes Dean sees The Look again, the one that tells him he’s broken and needs to be handled with care. He’d gotten used to the absence of that look, but nearly as much as he was used to its presence.

“I heard you shouting,” Cas begins, “I...wanted to make sure you were…” he trails off, and Dean knows it’s because there’s no appropriate word to put there. He’s not fine, because Sam is in Hell and nothing will ever be fine when Sam is near Lucifer.

“I just wanted to check on you,” Cas amends, as he continues to watch Dean worriedly.

Belatedly, Dean realizes he still has his arms out in front of him and he drops them abruptly.

“Just a dream,” Dean sighs tiredly.

“Was it about Sam?”

“Amara. And Michael.”

Cas narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything.

Dean sighs and decides to continue. Just because he’s slipping and is the world’s most hopeless case for a normal, healthy lifestyle doesn’t mean he can’t fight to keep some of the progress he made, right? Open communication is something they were all working on.

“I saw her, the other day. She pulled me to this field and...she said that we’re bonded and we’re supposed to be together.” He hates saying it out loud, and he can’t understand why a part of him can’t scoff at the idea.

“You’re bonded with the Darkness?” Cas asks, as he comes to sit on the end of the bed, but Dean knows that isn’t the question he’s really asking.

“I guess. I can’t seem to kill her. I...I did try,” he finishes miserably.

“What would the Darkness want with you?” Cas muses.

“She wasn’t real specific. But I mean, I guess it kinda makes sense, you know? I let her out. I had the mark, she has the mark. _Is_ the mark, I guess.”

“But you’re free of the mark,” Cas protests, “that was the whole point.”

Dean sighs and rubs a hand down his face. “I’m never free of anything, man. Not really. _That’s_ the whole point.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Dean lies back to stare at the ceiling.

“Michael showed up and said God wanted to speak to me, but Amara didn’t want to let me go without her.” He’s silent again for a few moments before saying “Sam thought his visions were from God, did he tell you that?”

Cas nods.

“Do you think God really wants to talk to me?” Dean asks.

Cas looks at him sadly. “I can’t pretend to know what God wants these days, Dean, but...it’s not impossible.”

“There was a dove there,” Dean remembers suddenly, and he finds himself smiling. “Like that hideous one you put on the tree. It...saved me, I think.”

“They are wonderful birds,” Cas says, returning the smile.

“Glorified pigeons,” Dean retorts.

A few more silent minutes go by before Dean gets to the goddamn wooly mammoth in the room.

“Hey Cas?” Dean whispers.  Cas hums his attention. “How are we ever gonna rescue Sam from the cage a second time?”

“You need to rest before we tackle that, Dean.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Trust me Cas, I’m not sleeping any more tonight.” He sits up and rubs his eyes before he remembers. “Is it..is it Christmas?”

“Today is the 25th, so yes.” Cas answers slowly.  

“Merry fucking Christmas,” Dean says bitterly. He glances up and sees The Look clouding Cas’s face again.

“Well,” Cas sighs, “if you feel you’re sufficiently rested, we better get started. I’ll meet you in the library in 10 minutes.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Dean is seated at the table with books already scattered around him when Cas comes in and sets down a mug of coffee and a cup of eggnog in front of Dean.

 Dean looks up, surprised. “What happened to keeping eggnog far away from you?”

 “I think I can make a Christmas exception,” Cas shrugs. His playful expression turns serious as he fixes Dean with bright blue eyes which barely conceal the millennia of experience behind them. “I know that having Christmas without your brother is very painful for you. And I wish I was able to do more to help. But I can pour eggnog, and I’ve learned to make coffee, so I’m starting there.

 Dean suddenly feels incredibly tired - weary beyond his years - but he summons his most convincing smile. “Thanks,” he says. Then adds “you being here is good,” and tries to convey the sincerity of the words. “And once we get Sam back, everything will be the way it’s supposed to be.”

 They work all through the day and late into the night, and although they both maintain carefully hopeful tones while speaking, they both know that nothing they have found is even close to enough to get Sam out.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

That night Dean lies awake, once again staring at the dark ceiling.  He’s been thinking about what he’s about to do since he woke from his dream almost 24 hours ago. He almost told Cas about his plan, but decided not to. He can’t say exactly what stopped him, but the fact that it’s probably one of his worst ideas ever (and on a scale that only goes from bad to worse, that carries a lot of weight) might have something to do with it.

 Still, he thinks determinedly, that’s never stopped him before, and if anything is worth it, getting Sam as far away from Lucifer as he can certainly is.

 He closes his eyes and pictures a pretty, smiling face.

  _Amara,_ he thinks. _I need your help._ He waits a few moments. _I know I’m probably not supposed to call you like this, but if we are bound, shouldn’t this thing go both ways?_

After a few more seconds his vision begins to shimmer, despite the fact that his eyes are still closed. Suddenly he’s standing on a wide bridge over a stream and Amara is there before him.

 “Hello, Dean,” she says fondly. “I’m glad you called.”

 That feeling is back again, the good-but-not-good one he gets whenever he’s close to her.

 “Yeah, listen, I need your help.” He thinks about prevaricating further, but decides to just go for it. Amara seems to value straightforwardness. “My brother is trapped in Lucifer’s cage, and he needs to get out.”

 “A Winchester in the Cage?” she repeats. Dean gulps air as he watches her face. “Dean,” she murmurs, “my loyalty is to you and you alone. I have no bond with your brother.”

 Dean’s resolve shatters at these words.

 “Amara,” he pleads, “I’m begging you. He cannot stay in there. Doing this for him will be like doing it for me.”  
  
“Oh I know,” she smiles. “You would never ask for anything unless it was for someone else.”

 She continues to stare at him, her face soft, and he can’t tell what she’s thinking and it’s driving him crazy.

 “So..” he ventures, “can you do it?”

 Amara’s eyes flash briefly. “I can do whatever I want, Dean,” she says, and he worries that he’s angered her.

 “Right, I know. I mean, will you? For me?”

 He holds his breath as she studies him.

 “I will do it,” she says finally, “if you agree to stop resisting me, and accept the full power of our bond.” Warning lights go off in Dean’s brain because he has no idea what that entails, but it sounds more than a little suspicious, and it’s definitely something he should look into before agreeing, but he doesn’t, because the danger is overshadowed immediately by the relief he feels when he realizes that she’s saying yes.

 “Agreed,” he breathes, “I’ll do anything. Just promise to get him out.”

 “Very well, then.” Her smile is wide and confident. “I did say you wouldn’t be able to resist me.”

 She reaches forward and grasps his neck, drawing him into another kiss, and Dean is surrounded by Darkness like he has never known before, with only Amara’s promise to to buoy him along.

 

Then the Darkness, impossibly, expands and deepens, and Dean knows nothing more.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first fic, and I'm not real confident, so feedback is appreciated - even the critical or kudos-button kind :)


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